Just saying what most of you already know…and thanks

This older-baby stuff is sooooo much fun. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve got some high drama going on; he is moody as hell some days and acts deeply wounded if I have to take anything away from him, but I can handle this emotionality so much better than I could the screeching and fussing (on his part) and guesswork and paranoia (on mine) that characterized his infancy. Okay, sometimes I screeched and fussed, too. It was contagious. I never said I was one of those serene earth mamas. I just did my best.

This past year has been the most challenging of my life. It made me a bit of a shut-in at times. I am getting past that now. I’ve been mostly forcing myself to be social until recently. I am ready to be out in the world again, to really soak it up with Bean and Huz. What’s that saying? Fake it ’til you make it. Smile in order to trick your brain. All that jazz. It worked.

I do kind of wish we were going to have another baby, just to see what it would be like to do the whole infancy thing armed with my tried-and-true knowledge. A pregnancy that didn’t involve schlepping my enormous and exhausted body all over the city would be grand, too. Other than that first trimester, which was what I imagined a combo of sea sickness and mononucleosis would feel like, I enjoyed being pregnant. It took forever, but I liked it. I loved the strength and form of my body and I learned a great deal about myself as a person. I do feel, however, that I am meant to be a one-baby-mama. All of the medical craziness that went on with Bean’s birth aside, I can’t imagine the strain of having more than one child in this culture. I did not let my anger at an American system that is so hostile to moms keep me from having a child, but I do not think I am cut out for more, as it stands. My closest pal, a working-outside-the-home mom of three, says I would simply adjust. I’m not so sure. She has always been a lot better at dealing with life on this planet than me. She also knew she wanted to be a mom when we were 16. It took me 15 more years to feel that way. I feel no need to overdo it.

I digress.

Bean’s first birthday is fast approaching and it is a celebratory time on so many levels. Parenthood keeps getting better and better. I see now how the investment I made in this little person during those difficult early months is paying off. I can almost laugh at the times when I threatened to throw myself off the roof. Heh. Almost. I will miss many things about his babyness, though I felt every. single. moment. of those first 5 months. The 3.5 to follow where sleep still eluded us were no picnic, either. I look back on photos from that time where I am smiling and seem so calm. Was it really that hard? Yes, it really was. Since then, though, time has sailed quickly by. I now get what people mean by that “they grow up so fast” line. I used to look at those who said this to me like they were part of some conspiracy to make me insane. Now it is just slipping, slipping, slipping away from me and I am trying to document every moment in my mind so I can fully savor it all.

I look into Bean’s eyes and ask him, “Who are you, sweet baby?” He generously gives me his huge jack o’ lantern grin. He is unfolding more every day. I don’t want to rush him, but I can hardly wait to meet the child he becomes.

Now, I’m off to make plans. We’re keeping it quiet, his birthday, but that doesn’t mean we won’t need a much-too-large cake and lots of champagne. I will be toasting my laptop in your honor, peeps. Thank you so very much for being here with me this year.

Insert inspirational quote about the possibilities of life here

Or not because most of them sound like I am trying to uplift you or something. I’m just thinking some things through.

Okay wait, here is one I like by ol’ Tommy Edison: “If we did all of the things we were capable of doing, we would literally astound ourselves.”

Hmmmm…

In the six years before I became a mom, I was known as a “knowledge worker”. Faaaancy, yah? Nah. It meant that I spent my days in a cubicle researching and writing and creating things on my computing machine that would hopefully make people go “oh, now I get it”. I used to call it a brain farm.

I liked the work, which was applied educational psychology. I was good at it. I managed many simultaneous projects well. I disliked managing people so I passed on a lot of opportunities for advancement. I hate authority, why would I want to be authority, you know? So I kept to my own “career path”. If all of the major roads lead to people management, I simply won’t drive on them, said I. I wrote courses, basically. Lots of them. All kinds, from aeronautic remote sensing to technology risk consulting to how to advocate effectively for children. Yep, other than feeling like the life was being sucked out of me on a daily basis, I liked it. I do miss it. I am just not meant to be in a cubicle or office environment. It reminded me too much of being plugged into The Matrix. I will return to classroom teaching someday. Classrooms are nice and open. It will not happen in a public school, though, that never really was my scene. Too much structure and the classes are too big and regulated by the gov’t for my style. It’ll be a non-profit center. My return to teaching is for later, though. Like later, later, when I gain some maturity and perspective. *fingers crossed* Hope hope!

In between now and then, I’ve been mulling over what to do. What to do? Bean’s not going to need me to stay at home when he goes to school, not until that freaky jr. high time, anyway, when I will most def be up his arse. But in between his ages 4-12, what to do?

I could write. Why sure, why not, I enjoy doing that constantly, as anyone who reads me here and suffers through my haste can attest. This blog has never been about professional quality; I’m clearly not trying to generate a revenue stream. It doesn’t even have a focus. This is just a place to be me. But I’m not half bad when I really try, I’ve written some things that could maybe get published in some small presses, or I could put out my own, I just haven’t taken myself seriously enough. There’s always a voice in my head telling me that it’s not a “real” job, which is deeply ridiculous so I do need to work on shutting it the hell up.

I have also always had an attraction to working in a bakery. I am drawn to the simplicity of it. Note: I did not say ease. That shit is tough stuff and takes a lot of study to do well. What I mean by simplicity is that people need to eat. Food makes them feel good. Cakes, cookies and bread make them feel great and help them celebrate life. I think I would like to make things that make people feel great and help them celebrate life.

I became crazy inspired while in San Francisco when we visited Tartine. They’ve been in the baking biz for a long time and it shows. I would not aspire to have such an impressive menu, I would just like to offer:

a small selection of some really kick ass breads, you know, that you have just GOT to have for your dinner date/Bat Mitzvah party/morning toast or you will simply die

two or three ridiculously good cookie flavors that make people say, “Oh my gahwd”

some artfully prepared oatmeal and dried fruit bowls to eat right away or buy in packets to take home

small, cream-filled cakes in coconut, chocolate, and ummmm, maybe banana or whatever is in season at that time

and I would offer coffee by the cup, not that acidic Starbucks crap, but maybe Intelligentsia and not just because I like the name and they are a Chicago company but because they make the best damn coffee I have ever had

Obviously this is not enough to set up shop somewhere (who wants the hassle of managing a property, anyway? Not me, nope.) but it is just enough to stock a table at a farmer’s market somewhere downtown during part of the year. I would need to learn to bake at some point…there are some tres chi-chi professional programs here in the ci-tay, of course, where I will prolly end up taking some classes. Ideally, though, in some parallel universe, I would get to do some kind of an old school apprenticeship under these broads. Yeah, I know the article is kinda sad, but how freaking cool are they? I hope they stay there forever. I like thinking about them.

Who knows where any of this will lead. I feel like I am getting the time and the opportunity to think about what I would like to do, not what I have to or what I should, for the first time in my life. It is a truly luxurious feeling and I am grateful for it.

You’re soaking in it

Oh, hell yes. Every woman should have a Summer of My Vagina with requisite arts and crafts.

I am completely serious. Imagine the positive changes there would be in both our individual and collective sexuality and self-image as females. This blog is so going on my reading list of bawdy broads.

And yes, I am leaving young men out of the discussion about the need to devote time to such an awakening. It’s not that they wouldn’t benefit from the positivity, and I do have a son that I will teach about sex in a very holistic manner. It’s just that the entire world already revolves around penises and the people they are attached to, from government to architecture to business systems ad nauseum. That’s quite enough.

I’ve worked so hard

to create a life devoid of the drama, violence, lies and alcoholism that are the legacy of acoas, and all it took to destroy my painstakingly crafted (albeit lonely) peace was a family member to move up here, ostensibly to help me. I am seriously depressed, peeps. No foolin’.

Thank God/dess it is International Talk Like A Pirate Day. Hard to sink too far down when I am encouraged to growl and shout:

“Laugh, by thunder, laugh! Before an hour’s out, ye’ll laugh upon the other side. Them that die’ll be the lucky ones.”

Love me some Nellie McKay

This broad always puts me in a good mood. The song below is one of my favorites by her. Reminds me how ridiculous my reflexive apology mechanism is, and for that matter, how ridiculous just about everything I freak out about is in the grand scheme of things. And what could be better in my current mood than a cd called Get Away From Me?

Sometimes I feel like I shouldn’t apologize so much
That it’s jive it’s a crutch
I just used when I’m judged
Bein’ fudged by a face I can’t erase and can’t see
Cuz I misplaced a dossier or Monty Python CD
Or somethin’ stupid like that
But jesus is that so bad
To make my ego go splat
Like a tire goin’ flat
Or fat on a big mac
I’m bein’ attacked
Tit for tat
You fuckin’ bureaucrats
You can just apologize back

But I don’t know when it comes and it goes
All the highs and the lows
In this motionless psychosis
Ieeieei and I die fadin’ straight away
Ieeieei and I cry every waking day
I don’t know what else to say

I’m sorry for the mess
The stupid way I’m dressed
I guess I failed my test
Oh don’t you know I’m sorry for my views
I musta been confused
And yet you know that really I’m sorry for you

Well now I don’t mean to offend, much
Just comprehend
When you’re female and you’re fenced in and
Phen-phened to no end
And no zen guide to men will help you fend off the brethren
And then the pen appears
And better than the oxygen network
Or the sword or the spear or the fork
Or the bored pork-fed horde
It’s a mooring post
The whore you’ll miss the most when you’re away
When you’re in Snowshoe PA
Doin’ some play from Backstage
That deals with AIDS and race and gays and
Relationships and ballet
And then you’re like “hey yay what’d you say?
I can just sing my troubles away?”
But then you’re fucked
’cause you gotta make a buck
And the whole world sucks
And you’re like a lame duck
That’s lyin’ dyin’ tryin’ to sell out
But there’s no one buyin’ and there’s all this doubt
And you can preen and dream and scream and shot
But your life’s affliction is the fiction of Faust

I’m sorry for the time
The stupid way I rhyme
I knew I shoulda chose a life of crime
I’m sorry for my blues
I know it’s all old news
And yet you know that really I’m sorry for you

Note to self

Dearest Self,

Do not celebrate the rapid appreciation of your real estate after being named one of the “hottest neighborhoods” in the country until you see what it does to your property taxes. It’s not pretty. Not pretty at all.

A sahm for a short time,

B.

P.S. Who knew that a neighborhood considered “dead at night” and “for the adventurous” could bring such swift joy and pain?

The get out of jail free card

Me: *being admittedly passive-aggressive in an I-didn’t-go-to-university-to-be-a-maid frame of mind* Does it ever occur to you to change the sheets? I mean, that they even need changing at all, ever?

Huz: They’re fine.

Me: No, it’s been weeks. Do you even notice when they are getting kind of gross? Or when the curtains need to be pulled and rinsed so we are not choking on dust as we sleep? (we’ve got a rather grand four poster bed that I bought for myself years ago with not a canopy exactly but a big, sheer curtainy overlay thing, tres zexy, woo woo)

Huz: *adopting a patronizing tone that just may land me a leading role on “Snapped” one day* When I lived all by myself in New York I changed my sheets every week and kept the bed very nicely made, with no prompting from you, thank you very much.

Me: Yeah, you kept the bed clean and nicely made so you could bring women home and impress them with lovely surroundings while you tried to stick it in. So what you are saying is that you had more awareness, energy and concern for the random women you brought home than you do for me and our marriage bed?

Huz: *silent with wary expression and a slight backing up*

Me: Would you like the opportunity to back out of this conversation now?

Huz: Yes, yes I would.

Me: Good choice.

Dat! Dat!

He can say “that”. He says it clearly and often. His careful enunciation of the word is simply gorgeous to me. He points to everything and says it, never tiring of me naming the artwork, the photos, the furniture, the things we see outside the window, etc.

It is such a popular and effective word that he uses a variation of it, ”at”, in other situations besides the naming game, but the more important variation has become “dat! dat!!!” which is now shouted as he claws at my shirt to breastfeed. Hmmmm.

Once again, breastfeeding has become a highly urgent activity, just as it was when he was much smaller. During the time between then and now, I had to make sure I scheduled (gah! more freaking scheduling!) a nursing session after each waking (morning and naps) and before bed to ensure he was getting what he needed. I was concerned that he seemed to be self-weaning way too soon. I was convinced that I was doing something wrong, but also kind of relieved, and a little sad at the same time. What a freaking jumble of feelings. I never thought we’d nurse as long as 9 months. I actually never thought we’d get through the first 3 even with 1/2 time formula supplementation. But somehow we did. And so.

Here we are at 11.5 months. I’ve been planning to donate a goat, that’s right, a goat, as part of his weaning ceremony/first birthday milestone. I expected to keep the morning and nighttime nursings for a while longer, but since he hasn’t been too interested in the daytime stuff for months, I figured we’d mark the transition at a year old even if he wasn’t o-ffically “weaned”. I am being kind of formal about it as a way to help me with the jumbled feelings, and also as a way to say “hey thanks, universe, thanks for getting me the information I needed to keep trying and make this whole breastfeeding thing work. here’s some milk and food for a mama out there in the world who needs it right now”.

I’ve dropped us down to three times a day in anticipation of this milestone. I’ve been readying myself for a transition that I thought would bring me great glee, because truth be told, I am kinda sick of nursing sometimes. So at this time when I am going with his lead, when I am readying my body to stop producing as much milk (not that it ever had a hard time with that) Bean has now upped the ante with desperate calls of ”dat! dat!!!!” while clutching at my chest and banging his face lightly against it, crying in a very pathetic fashion if I try to distract him. Wha? I mean, I get why this might be happening at this age, but Bean has been all “meh” about nursing for months now. I thought for sure he would continue along with the “no thanks, lady” trajectory we were on. Two weeks before our adieu, kind boobies transition and he is wanting to nurse CONSTANTLY.

So much for wrapping my head around my conflicting emotions, heh. I guess I’ll just add them to the pile.

This parenting thing is a fucking roller coaster, isn’t it?

I would need to enter the contents of my entire blog

in the comment section at Ask Moxie to really respond as clearly as I want to under this post. Or I could just simply say

HELL YES.

I’ve talked about it before but saying it again feels cleansing, in the same way peroxide on a cut stings like crazy but you know it is going to make it better faster and prevent any festering goop: having Bean and seeing how unbelievably straightforward his needs are, even at his most challenging and exhausting, made me unable to speak to my father. Of course, the whole not-making-it-out-here-to-ever-meet-him and that do-you-feel-like-a-lesser-woman-because-of-the-c-section thing, among other behavioral gems, added to my decision. I just can’t be in contact with him. I can’t because I don’t want to. And at this point, not being in contact with him hurts a lot less than trying to be.

God Says Yes To Me

I love this a whole lot. Found it via 37 days.

God Says Yes To Me

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don’t paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I’m telling you is
Yes Yes Yes

-Kaylin Haught